


What Makes A Criminal, Anyway?

by LilyLemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Situation, Awkwardness, Breakfast, Breaking and Entering, Drinking, First Meetings, Just idiots, M/M, Meet-Cute, accidentally, ish, they're not criminals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyLemon/pseuds/LilyLemon
Summary: There are certain rules about being a responsible adult, and Sirius is pretty sure that one of them is that you shouldn't break into people's conservatories when you're drunk.Luckily, it just so happens that, in spite of his accidental criminal tendencies, the Universe has decided to reward him by placing an incredibly attractive stranger with a surprisingly acerbic sense of humour in the conservatory too - yes, the one he broke into.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	What Makes A Criminal, Anyway?

He wakes up in his conservatory, on the floor, wearing someone else’s  _ horrendous  _ jacket - quite disappointing really, since he thought he had better fashion sense than that, even when drunk, but apparently not. It’s horribly cold, even though he’s set the heating to automatically come on at 6am, and he doesn’t remember ever buying the chair closest to him, which is weird, even with the fact that Mrs Potter bought nearly all his furniture - unless... 

Sirius isn’t a complete moron - at the risk of sounding like an asshole, he’s actually pretty intelligent - but he’s reluctant to admit that he’s  _ not  _ in his house, mainly because that probably makes him some kind of stalker - there’s definitely laws against being in other people’s houses when you don’t know them - and he’s inherently eager to  _ avoid  _ being convicted of breaking and entering before his thirtieth birthday. In an ideal world, he’d like to not be a criminal for his entire life, but that’s almost definitely impossible, so he’ll settle for thirty years without brushing up against any restraining orders. 

But he is  _ definitely  _ in someone else’s house. This isn’t the best position to be in, especially not when you’ve got a pounding headache from doing three or four too many shots last night, so he scrambles up and then immediately falls over; he’s not still drunk - not still  _ too  _ drunk, anyway - but one of his boots is missing the heel on it, which is a slightly concerning fact, but not his biggest problem at the moment. No, his biggest problem is that he’s  _ still in someone else’s house _ . 

Unfortunately, this person is clearly very attentive to personal security, as every single door and window is locked tight. It’s just his luck that he managed to get in the night before -  _ how  _ he got in is still unclear, though - but can’t escape now, and as he doesn’t feel like smashing a window to free himself, his only option is to wander around the house until he finds a feasible way out. It then occurs to him, as he’s trying another door handle, that if he weren’t in one of the most stressful situations of his life, this would be hilarious. 

And then someone walks in, just as he stumbles over again, forgetting that his shoe still doesn’t have the wedge heel - because, unsurprisingly, the situation hasn’t changed in the past ten minutes. 

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing in this house?” 

  
  
  


The night before, he had climbed out of the taxi he and James had taken, checking his pockets for his keys and insisting to James he’d be fine when he realised that he’d lost them. There was a key under the mat, so he’d just use that, and then get a new key cut the next day. Unfortunately, there  _ wasn’t  _ a key under the mat, and so the next logical step in the problem was to break into his own conservatory - it had seemed logical when he was sloshed out of his mind, anyway. Unfortunately, it seems the reason that his key wasn’t under the mat was because it  _ wasn’t his house _ , and therefore it means that he is currently standing in somebody else’s conservatory, wearing a stained jacket and a broken shoe. 

  
  


The stranger, who has a very nice house, also has a  _ very  _ nice face. If he wasn’t currently in his house when he didn’t even know his name, Sirius knew he’d definitely be chatting the guy up. But, he  _ is  _ in the stranger’s house, and it feels inappropriate to start flirting with someone when you’ve broken into their house, even if the breaking and entering was technically a drunken accident. 

And he was incredibly drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he decided to perform his rendition of Dancing Queen, as ABBA was one of the best songs to sing when you’ve climbed up onto a bar, bought drinks for half the bar, and then fallen down the stairs and snapped the wedge off your shoe when you hit the floor.

“So, that explains the broken shoe, then.” He murmurs, twisting his ankle left and right to inspect his boot.

“I’m over the moon that your broken shoe is explained, but you’re  _ still  _ in the house, and I  _ still  _ don’t know why.” There’s not really a good explanation, as right now his only defence is that when he’s pissed he clearly gets the urge to break into conservatories that he thinks are his but apparently aren’t, and while that may classify as some kind of reasoning behind his possibly criminal actions, it definitely isn’t a  _ good  _ explanation _.  _ “For all I know, you could be trying to kill me.”

“I’m not trying to  _ kill you.  _ I don’t even know who you are.”

“That’s a great reassurance. I’m sure all murderers  _ tell  _ their victims that they’re going to kill them, just for the fun of it.”

“As much as I’d like to properly reassure you I’m not a murderer, and  _ I’m not,  _ by the way, I don’t think there’s any way to do that.”

“I’m glad you realise that breaking into a conservatory in the middle of the night isn’t normal, non-threatening behaviour. Tea?” It’s probably not wise to invite the random, half dressed person you found wandering round your house, stinking of tequila and looking half-dead, a cuppa, but Sirius isn’t the one putting his life in danger here, so he accepts it. He then remembers that the stranger  _ also  _ isn’t putting his life in danger, since he’s  _ not a serial killer _ , but the point still stands. 

“By the way, your conservatory isn’t very secure. If I were you, I’d get some kind of burglar alarm.” He’s clattering around with teabags and the kettle, and the incessant noise is making Sirius want to wince - he hasn’t drunk as much as he did last night in ages, and the hangover is unbearable.

“Funny enough, I wasn’t betting on a stranger trying to break in after a drunken night out.”

“And there’s your error. Always be prepared; nobody’s safe from the conservatory gang.”

“You’re right. In fact, I should probably warn my friends and neighbours about the strange man who broke into this conservatory and then threatened the person they found there.”

“I haven’t threatened you!” He’s been perfectly courteous, breaking into somebody’s conservatory aside - he hasn’t tracked mud over the floor, he  _ smiled  _ at the person who he found in the house, he made the thoughtful choice  _ not  _ to smash a window in an effort to escape; really, this man should be thanking him, not sullying his name with slander about him  _ threatening him.  _

“Your presence is pretty threatening, considering I don’t know who you are.” There is that small - tiny, inconsequential - fact, that he completely forgot about; this isn’t his house, and  _ technically  _ he probably shouldn’t be there. 

“I’m Sirius. And, really, I’m a lovely person. Not threatening, at all; just a harmless boy next door type of guy, you know. Parents love me.”

“That’s useful to know. I’m sure when I introduce you to my mother as the man who was committing a crime when I met him, she’ll love you. Besides, murderers often act kind to lure their victims in, so don't think you’ve fooled me.” He’s actually pointing the teaspoon at Sirius like some kind of weapon, waving at him as he castigates him and adds far too much sugar to his own tea - though Sirius’ tea remains untarnished by the cheap sugar cubes, thank God. 

“What crime was I committing, stealing your heart?”

“Breaking and entering, trying to lure a poor innocent victim to their vicious and untimely demise - I’ll be on one of those Buzzfeed articles for the Unsolved Murders, and I’ll be described as a beautiful boy, with so much potential, whose entire life was ruined by a mysterious criminal who lured him in by pretending to be ‘lovely’, when in fact he was the most prolific serial killer in all of Essex.” He’s pretty sure that the Unsolved Murders series on Buzzfeed is actually composed of videos, not articles, but it’s probably bad form to correct someone on something you’re not particularly sure about, after you’ve broken into their house and accepted the tea they’ve so kindly offered. Well, not accepted, since the man is still faffing about with teaspoons, doing God knows what. 

“I wouldn’t have to  _ lure you in _ , since I’m already in the house. I could just whip out a machete and slice you up into tiny little bits. No luring involved.”

“A machete?” The stranger’s voice is more curious than disturbed, and he looks almost interested in the discussion of how he’s supposedly going to be murdered. 

“You said it would be a vicious murder, so I offered the most brutal murder weapon I could think of.”

“You seem to have thought about this a lot. Are you  _ sure  _ you’re not a murderer?” He  _ still  _ doesn’t have his tea, and he’s incredibly thirsty, and although Mrs Potter would definitely be scandalised that he committed such a social blunder as what he was about to do, she wouldn’t be told about any of this day, for fear of her being so horrified she never looks at him again. So, ignoring the thoughts of Euphemia’s strict adherence to manners, Sirius clicks his fingers at the man - who still hasn’t told him his name, which is rather rude - and smiles in what he hopes is a charming and enticing way. 

“Where’s my tea?” See, couldn’t be more charming and enticing than that. The man grins at him and reaches out to place his hand on Sirius - yes, that’s right, the hot stranger now actually has  _ his hand on Sirius’  _ and Sirius definitely isn’t staring into his eyes to try and convince the man to fall in love with him, because that would be  _ completely bizarre  _ \- and then slams the box of tea onto the counter, followed by a  _ metal tea tray  _ only seconds later. If you can feel colours banging around in your skull and sounds pressing against your eyes, then it’s probably now that he has the agony of actually being able to  _ taste the pain  _ reverberating through his skull. The first thought he’s able to register, aside from  _ I may actually die from the pain of this _ , is  _ Who owns a metal tea tray?  _ The second is  _ who would purposefully cause a hungover man this much pain?  _

The stranger also seems to be wincing, though he probably can’t  _ smell _ the torment of the remaining throes of pain - every single one of his senses is still overcome with the horrendous feeling of having his brain implode - but then shoots him a grim smile. 

“Have some manners, eh?”

“Did you really do that on purpose, knowing that I’m incredibly hungover?” The stranger - he should probably ask for his name, but after the suitable alternative to capital punishment that he’s just suffered through, the stranger doesn’t deserve a name - shrugs and makes his eyes comically wide, as if to say  _ What do you think, knobface? _

“Serves a criminal like you right.”

“Would a criminal dress like this?” The wordless answer he receives from the man is enough, and then he remembers the crime against fashion that he’s currently committing; if Noel Fielding and a medieval monk started a fashion company, his horrendous outfit would hint at him being their number one customer. He’s  _ still  _ wearing the ragged jacket - why he hasn’t taken it off yet is unclear - with one wedge missing off his shoe, and the chicken sauce stains coating his previously white T-Shirt is the final touch in looking like he slept in a tip and has possibly taken up permanent residence there. And then of course there’s the question of  _ why  _ his shirt stinks of greasy chicken and absinthe - the absinthe is also how he knows he’s sunk lower than any other drunken night out with James; he only ever drinks absinthe when he’s already ingested too much to care that it’s  _ far too alcoholic for a seventh drink, and tastes of anise _ , because all he thinks about at that point is drinking more, obviously, and the resplendency of the drink. 

Though on further reconsideration, the chicken scent can, unfortunately, be explained; they were thrown out of the bar for the second time, an incident which was James’ fault after he started mixing strangers’ drinks and fell off the bar, and smashed two chairs - on a completely unrelated note, Sirius is now banned from that bar after telling the bouncer he ‘would never be stopped’ and started wielding the leg of a bar stool at him. Once they decided the curb wasn’t a comfortable place to sit when you’re throwing up, they ventured to the chicken shop, where Sirius bought about fifty pieces of chicken, and actually cried at the beauty of the meal - he remembers James taking pictures of the tears streaming down his face as he yelled that he’d never see anything as perfect as this again - and then dropped the chicken all over the floor. He also remembers eating the chicken anyway:  _ I can taste gravel. Doesn’t go well with the chicken sauce,  _ and James taking  _ even  _ more pictures - Christ, his camera roll must be full of snaps of Sirius, pissed out of his mind, eating chicken off the floor - and telling him to eat it,  _ go on, I dare you, eat it anyway.  _ And he had eaten it anyway, much to his disappointment. At least he didn’t waste the food - that’s a valid excuse, right?

Sirius grins back up at the stranger, and gestures to his shirt.

“Turns out I ate chicken off the floor, probably ingested some gravel, which explains the stains. Fucking James knobface Potter, supposedly my friend, thought it would be funny to watch me eat chicken off the street. And the green stain is the absinthe we had, because apparently I have  _ no dignity. _ ” He’s already making plans to hide eggs in James’ room and wait for them to go rotten before telling him where they are. It’ll serve him right for encouraging Sirius to eat chicken with  _ a side of gravel. _

“For a serial killer, you’re actually pretty pitiful.” He’s not pitiful...always. At the moment, sure, but when he’s dressed, sober, wearing two whole shoes, had a shower, and not regretting every choice from the night before, he’s anything  _ but  _ pitiful. 

“Still not a serial killer.”

“Can you actually prove that, though? Because if the police released serial killers  _ just for saying  _ they’re not serial killers, we’d have a lot more Jack the Rippers roaming around.”

“Well, you’re alive, aren’t you? That’s proof enough.” The stranger nods slightly, as if considering and accepting Sirius’ point. For about a minute, he rummages around in the fridge, then finally emerges with eggs, cheese, and tomatoes, lobbing them all in a pot and whisking it so fast his hands are basically blurs. It occurs to Sirius, as this man is  _ making him breakfast  _ \- yes, the unfairly attractive, enigmatic man is  _ cooking  _ for him - that really, the situation took one of the strangest turns it could have done. Not only did this poor stranger come downstairs to find a hungover, chicken stained man wandering ‘round his house with no explanation, he then discovered that he’d actually  _ broken  _ into his house, and yet the man is still just calmly hovering by the stove making scrambled eggs, as if it’s a normal situation to find yourself in. 

If it was Sirius who had discovered somebody in his house, he’d have freaked the fuck out, locked himself in the bathroom while he scribbled out a will on the back of a toothpaste box, and then called the police, not offered the criminal _ a mug of tea.  _

“Look, mate, you don’t have to make me breakfast. I’ve already broken into your house, and -” The stranger coughs slightly, looking extremely guilty despite the laughter he’s  _ clearly  _ holding back.

“Yeah, this isn’t my house.” Sirius just stares at the stranger for a few seconds, before feeling complete outrage bubble up in him. He’s spent the entire morning - well, the last hour - feeling terrible for accidentally breaking into this man’s house, and now he finds out  _ it’s not even his house?  _ What if this adorable, jumper-laden, egg master is actually some kind of serial killer, and he murders Sirius? On a side note, the  _ actual  _ owner of the house is clearly a very unlucky person, and should also probably invest in some kind of security system. 

“ _ What  _ did you say?”

“It’s my friend’s house, not mine. And, um, she doesn’t know I’m here.”

“You liar! You complete hypocrite! Slagging me off for being a serial killer when you  _ also _ broke into someone else’s house. In fact,  _ you  _ could be a serial killer.” The fact that the stranger - again, Sirius  _ really  _ should ask him his name - is in a friend’s house is comforting, as it means he’s  _ definitely  _ not a serial killer. But, even though he  _ knows  _ the stranger isn’t a serial killer, that doesn’t mean he’s not going to taunt him about it.

“ _ I’m _ not the one who gave detailed plans of murder with a machete. I wouldn’t be surprised if you accusing me of being a murderer was just an effort to distract from the fact that you’re about to make burgers from my flesh, or something.” The places this man’s mind goes to is really quite alarming -  _ flesh burgers  _ isn’t generally the first thing someone thinks of when having a conversation with someone who  _ also  _ broke into the same house as you last night. But the situation itself  _ is  _ pretty unusual, so Sirius can’t be too picky on the etiquette. 

“I thought we’d agreed that I was harmless? Also, I think we’ve gathered that you’re  _ just _ as bad as me, so you can’t slag me off anymore.” The man actually looks  _ pained _ at the thought of being like Sirius, which is slightly offensive, but overall quite understandable. 

“No, no, I’m  _ definitely  _ not as bad as you. I kept my dignity last night, I didn’t eat chicken  _ off the floor _ , I didn’t just wander into a random house and decide to sleep on the floor.”

“Everyone makes bad decisions when they’re drunk, and mine was going out with the fuckwad James, who allowed me - no,  _ convinced me  _ \- to eat the chicken. Come on, what did  _ you _ do last night?” The stranger is grinning now, and their banter feels surprisingly natural, considering they’ve only met an hour ago. 

“Nothing as bad as you. I  _ may  _ have pulled a handrail off a wall in the club, but then I decided to come home.” Sirius is gleeful, actually fucking  _ bursting  _ with joy. This handsome, seemingly-well-behaved-but-actually-as-bad-as-him man  _ pulled a handrail off the wall _ , and then drunkenly stormed his friend’s house  _ when she didn’t know he was there _ . The fact this confession has appeared after the man has been slating Sirius for being an irresponsible criminal for the past hour only makes it better. 

“‘Come home’ to someone else’s house, without their knowledge. You, my friend, are  _ definitely  _ as bad as me.”

“Listen, she gave me a key when she moved in. Just because I didn’t use it -” Sirius claps his hands. The stranger didn’t even enter through the front door? Perfect, absolutely perfect. Clearly, the man noticies Sirius’ eagerness, because his weary expression becomes even more antipathetic to him - though there’s a smile, hidden behind a wall of heavy sighs. “There is a  _ small  _ possibility that I climbed through her window. Not that she’ll ever know, because she’s on holiday.”

“You may actually be  _ worse  _ than me. After all, you violated the trust of your friend with a vicious, alcohol fuelled break in.” The man is actually laughing now, and he’s dishing the eggs up on delicate blue plates that he found in one of the cupboards. Now that Sirius has established that it  _ isn't  _ his house, but he’s also  _ not  _ a serial killer - which is a major relief, because eating scrambled eggs with serial killers is definitely not one of his aims in life - it’s the perfect time to woo the stranger, take him to Paris or somewhere equally romantic, marry him, and spend the rest of his life is blissful matrimony with the beautiful, slightly hungover man opposite him. And the best way to start that would probably be  _ at least  _ knowing his name. 

“We’ve disrupted the natural order of things quite a bit. After all, usually you’d know someone’s name before confessing your criminal tendencies to them.”

“Is this your way of asking for my name?” Sirius nods - really, what else would it be? - and the man tries to hide a grin behind a sip of tea, but Sirius still sees it. He has beautiful teeth - though that compliment sounds less romantic and actually just vaguely creepy. “I’m Remus, the non-threatening, non-criminal, non-drunkard Uni student. Don’t steal my identity after you push my body into a river, please.” He may be talking about hiding bodies, but Remus -  _ what a hot name - _ is adorable, even when discussing the  _ supposed  _ murderous tendencies of Sirius.

“Excuse me, I’m also a non-threatening, non-drunkard Uni student. Though I guess I did  _ technically  _ break the law, so I can’t say I’m non-criminal.” There’s silence when they dig into their eggs - Remus can really make scrambled eggs - and then Sirius looks up at him with a nefarious, but hopefully charming, grin. “Since we’re both indomitable criminals when drunk, perhaps we could talk more over something non-alcoholic?” Remus purses his lips and scrunches his nose -  _ Christ _ , this man physically can’t get any more heavenly - as if deep in thought, which is slightly nerve wracking; Sirius might seem suave and charming - James would laugh his fucking head off at that - but even after only an hour and a bit with the fellow criminal, he’s  _ desperate  _ to spend more time with him, just perhaps in a location that  _ isn’t  _ a stranger’s kitchen.  _ Finally _ , after an agonizing eternity, in which Sirius contemplates just drowning himself in his tea to rid himself of the nerves, the man deigns to respond.

“I don’t see any problem with that, on two conditions. One:  _ stop  _ calling me a criminal, when you’re the real lawbreaker here. Two: we need to meet in broad daylight, so at least if you poison me and attempt to stow my body in an industrial freezer, there’ll be witnesses.” Once again, Remus’ mind comes up with the strangest situations - still, Sirius doesn’t complain, since he’s getting a date with the unfailingly captivating man. The empty plates have been pushed aside - they’re stacked next to the sink, along with some concerningly slanted piles of dishes - and so Sirius reaches out and strokes his finger along Remus’ hand, and tries not to squeal like an over-excitable child when Remus flips his wrist so they’re holding each other's hands. 

“Deal.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I was kind of hesitant to post this, since there are parts of it that I'm still not *completely* happy with, but I decided to push that crippling perfectionism aside and just put it up!  
> I heard the song "Drank Too Much" by Flo and Joan (they're amazing, and we stan two fantastic song-writers) and my brain just went straight into ridiculous writing mode.  
> Leave a comment down below to enhance my life by a million percent :)


End file.
